


This Migraine In My Head

by SherlockWolf



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cuddles, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Cryo, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWolf/pseuds/SherlockWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Am I the only one I know<br/>Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?<br/>Shadows will scream that I'm alone,<br/>But I know we've made it this far, kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Migraine In My Head

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished this fic. I didn’t put as much depth in it as I originally planned ( when I started writing it over a month ago) but the fic works well as a slice of life. Bucky’s mental health is such an important part of his character that I needed to explore back then, and still plan on exploring in future fics, because when it comes down to it, Bucky saved my life and I owe him.

    Bucky sits slouched at the desk of his and Steve’s room in T’Challa’s palace. His chin rests on the desktop, his head wedged between his arms. He’s wearing sweat pants and his red Henley with the sleeves pulled down to hide the new vibranium arm T’Challa’s engineers had fashioned for him. The metal arm is folded back, the other raised. He is alone. There is a gun tip resting against his forehead, lifted by his flesh hand.

    Bucky isn’t paying the stolen pistol any attention. His eyes are unfocused. He’s lost in his own mind, thoughts swirling endlessly.

    _I don’t deserve to be alive._

_I’ve killed so many people._

_…._

_Steve should hate me._

_He probably does._

_He just doesn’t want me to hate myself._

_Too late._

_…_

_Why couldn’t I have died in that ravine?_

_I could be in Heaven right now._

_I should be in Heaven right now._

_…._

_With Steve._

_…._

_We should both be in paradise._

_We’d earned it._

_…_

_He still has._

_But not me._

_Not anymore._

_…._

_I was good, once._

_Loved._

_Worthy._

_Needed._

_…._

_Maybe I could still get into Heaven._

_But God knows better._

_He knows everything I’ve done._

_…_

_I’m going to Hell._

_But I already knew that._

_I was going to Hell before the war, anyway._

_…_

_Steve doesn’t need me anymore._

_He has friends._

_Sam, Natasha, Wanda, Clint, Scott, T’Challa._

_Sharon._

_He really doesn’t need me._

_…_

_I wonder when he stopped loving me?_

_When he stopped needing me?_

_…._

The door creaks open, Bucky immediately comes out of his thoughts, and Steve slips into the room. Bucky knows it’s Steve, despite the door being behind him, because that man couldn’t sneak up on a deaf elephant with the way he thunders around. Plus, the movie Steve and the others had been watching had ended a few minutes ago, judging by the time on the digital clock on the desk in front of him.

    Bucky doesn’t move. He waits. Ice begins to seep into his veins.

    Steve walks across the room and flips the switch of the lamp on the bedside table to the left of the desk, and the night is lifted from Bucky’s environment.

    Not from his mind.

    Steve’s arm brushes his elbow as he turns around to face him. He hears Steve’s sharp intake of breath at what he finds. Bucky can hear Steve’s heartbeat accelerate in profound fear at what he must think Bucky’s considering doing.

    Steve’s fear implies he cares.

    Bucky doesn’t know what to think of that.

    Steve doesn’t say anything. He freezes. Bucky wonders what he’s thinking. Part of him wants to know, part of him doesn’t. He knows Steve doesn’t want to see this; wants to pretend that Bucky is okay so that he can be okay, too. But Bucky couldn’t hide this from Steve forever. In the end, he would never hide anything from Steve.

   “Tell me something.” Bucky asks, voice subdued. He knows that Steve will tell him whatever he wants to know right now. Hopefully he’ll be honest. Steve always prided himself on his honesty.

    “Anything.” Steve promises. He sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands and his eyes focused on Bucky. He knows that Steve is ready to pounce at any moment and rip the gun from his hands, but he also knows that Steve is trying to be as patient as possible so that he can assess whether or not Bucky will…will…

    Bucky feels nauseous.

    “Do you love me?”

    Steve doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Bucky waits, still not moving.

    Then he hears Steve’s breath hitch, over and over. Steve is trying not to cry.

    _Fuck._

    Bucky waits. The ice creeps into his heart.

    Finally, “Of course I love you.”

    Steve’s voice breaks on _love_. It reminds Bucky of the first time, nearly eight decades ago, that he asked Steve that same question. Steve had given him the same answer, and back then Bucky had known it was true. It has to be true now, right?

    “What about Sharon?” He asks, voice husky, and the second the words leave his mouth he feels guilty. Steve doesn’t need to be dealing with his insecurities. They’ve already talked about her, anyway, and Bucky knows what Steve is going to say before he says it.

    “I like her, sure, but she’s not you.”

    Bucky believes him. He has to.

    “Do you need me?” He changes the question.

    “More than life.” Steve answers more quickly, voice cracking like an earthquake is rumbling through his throat.

    Bucky’s eyes refocus on the gun in his hand. One simple push of his finger, and the pain would end. So would he. But Steve wouldn’t. Steve would go on, and they would lose each other again. Possibly forever.

    That is the only thought Bucky has found that can tear him away from the trigger.

    But tonight, he needs a little bit more than that.

    “It hurts, Steve.”

    “What does, Buck?” Steve is being so patient with him. It’s more than he deserves.

    “Knowing what I’ve done. You can say it wasn’t me all you want. Doesn’t change that I was the one pulling the trigger.”

    “Okay. But that doesn’t mean you deserve to die.” Steve argues, pleads.

    “It still hurts.” Bucky wishes he could phrase his meaning in a way that Steve would understand.

    _I watch them die over and over in my sleep._

_I see their blood._

_I hear their screams._

    But no one understands the mindset Bucky’s in unless they’ve been there themselves. Steve has never had this kind of migraine. Steve has never wanted to die. He was born a fighter. Bucky was not.

    “Let me help.” Steve begs.

    _Case in point._

    Bucky concedes. He sets the gun down on the desk and murmurs, “Take it.”

    Steve moves faster than lighting. He snatches the gun away and takes it out of the room.

    He’s gone for a few minutes, so Bucky stands and folds himself onto their shared mattress, facing the center of it. He pulls the covers up and over his head. His mind is racing.

    _Steve knows, now._

_…_

_No one has ever known._

_Just my handlers, but they never cared, so they didn’t matter._

_…_

_But Steve matters._

_…_

_What if he doesn’t want me after this?_

_I don’t want me._

_…_

_But if Steve felt like this…_

_…_

_I would break._

_…_

Steve comes back into the room. Wordlessly, he crawls into the empty side of the bed and pulls the covers up to his lap. He doesn’t lie down, though. Instead, he hesitantly pulls the blanket away from Bucky’s face.

    Bucky can’t look at him. He ends up staring at the shadowed form of Steve’s thigh instead. Briefly, Bucky wonders when Steve changed out of his day clothes, because he’s only wearing boxers now.

    “I want to help.” Steve repeats, voice steady and determined. It shakes Bucky from his musings, and he feels relieved. Steve isn’t asking why. He’s not freaking out. He’s not telling Bucky that he hates him, or that he’s disgusted. He’s not blaming himself or Bucky.

    _God, Steve, you’re perfect._

    “You can’t make it go away.” Because he can’t. If Bucky can’t make the thoughts leave, Steve won’t be able to, either.

    “The fuck I can’t.” Steve argues. Bucky wishes he wouldn’t.

    Suddenly Bucky is overwhelmed by the desire to _touch._ He reaches out for Steve with his flesh hand and Steve snags it with his own right hand, weaving their fingers together. The feeling of Steve’s skin against his makes Bucky’s nerves sing with joy.

    Steve is trembling.

    “I won’t leave you.” Bucky whispers, promising, and when he finally looks he sees Steve’s eyes tear up.

    “You better not.” He threatens, though to Bucky it sounds more like begging. Pleading. A cry into the night to never be separated from him again. Steve’s eyes betray his fear and his need, wide and blue, never wavering from Bucky’s.

    Bucky’s need to touch increases drastically, so he pulls on Steve’s hand and uses it as an anchor to wiggle his way onto Steve’s lap.

    “Hold on.” Steve grunts, and then he shifts so that he’s lying down. Bucky settles on his chest, hands still entwined. He shoves his metal arm under the pillow, next to Steve’s head.

    Steve’s free hand is playing with Bucky’s hair, a gesture that never fails to lull Bucky to sleep. Bucky nuzzles under Steve’s chin and breathes in his scent, one of strawberry bath wash and the slight sweat from the processes of daily life. Bucky had been the one to insist they buy strawberry soaps when he’d come out of cryo. He’d missed the smell of them.

    “Do you love me?” Steve asks, long after the lamp has been turned off and Bucky’s nearly unconscious. Bucky’s eyes blink open and he presses the tiniest kiss against Steve’s Adam’s apple.

    “Unconditionally.” He replies eventually, after finding the right word.

    “Do you need me?” Steve’s voice hitches again.

_Damnit, Steve, you shouldn’t cry over me._

    Bucky moves his arms so that he is propped up over Steve, hands cupping either side of his face, looking down at him. His eyes finally meet Steve’s teary ones, and he waits. Just for a moment, just to collect his thoughts.

    _I love you._

_You love me._

_I need you._

_You need me._

_I want you._

_You want me._

    Bucky knows that last one without even having to ask, because when he leans down and gives Steve a kiss which promises that he needs him, Steve immediately kisses him back, promising the same thing.

    “More than everything.” Bucky whispers needlessly as they pull away for breath. The tears fall from Steve’s eyes, and Bucky wipes them away with his thumbs. Steve nods, believing him. Trusting him. Just as he always has, and always will.

    Bucky knows that without Steve, he would never be able to ground himself.

    Steve is the only thing stopping him from floating away.

    But that’s okay.

    He couldn’t survive anything without Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/379920918545765841/


End file.
